he next morning Emma found that love had another symptom: she couldn't eat. Or rather, she couldn't eat in front of Alex.

She didn't seem to have any trouble at all when he wasn't in the room.

When she arrived downstairs for breakfast, Sophie, Eugenia, and Belle were already eating. Emma was famished, and she

sat down, ready to devour what looked like a scrumptious omelet.

Then Alex arrived.

Emma's stomach began to flutter as fast as a hummingbird's wings. She couldn't manage to get down a bite.

"Is the omelet not to your liking?" Eugenia asked.

"I'm not very hungry," Emma replied quickly. "But it's delicious, thank you."

Alex, who had strategically positioned himself right next to her, leaned over and whispered, "I can't imagine how you would

know since you haven't tried a bite."

She smiled wanly and put a forkful in her mouth. It tasted like sawdust. She looked over at Eugenia. "Perhaps just some tea."

* * *

By lunchtime Emma thought she might perish from hunger. Alex had had to take care of some estate business, so she and

Belle had spent the morning exploring the house. When they arrived in the informal dining room, her heart sank when she

realized that he wasn't there.

Her stomach, however, rejoiced.

She quickly downed a plate of roast turkey and potatoes, fearful that he would arrive any minute. After she had finished a generous helping of peas and asparagus, she thought to ask Eugenia about his whereabouts.

"Well, I was hoping he'd join us," his mother replied. "But he had to go out to the northwest corner of the estate to inspect the damage from last week's rainstorm."

"Is it very far?" Emma asked. Perhaps she could join him.

"Over an hour's ride, I should think."

"I see." She hadn't realized that Alex's landhold-ings were quite that vast. "Well, in that case I'll just have some of those lovely meringues."

Emma decided with a sigh that it was most likely all for the best that he'd been called away. If he had spent every minute by her side (which she had a feeling was his original intention), she'd probably have wasted away by the time she got back to London.

But she couldn't deny the fact that, despite the disturbance Alex caused her, she longed for his company every minute he was gone. She went for a ride through the countryside, but she didn't enjoy herself because Alex wasn't there to race her to the

apple tree she came across a couple of miles east of Westonbirt. And then he wasn't around to tease her when she deftly

climbed the tree or to compliment her aim when she launched one of the apples into the air, pegged a weak branch, and sent

five more apples tumbling down. She gave the fruit to Charlie when she returned, and he was so happy about the prospect of

fresh apple tarts that he felt compelled to race up and down the stairs six times. His exuberance was infectious, but it just

didn't lift her spirits like one of Alex's smiles. Emma doubted that anything could.

On the other hand, it was fortunate that she ate one of the apples while she was perched high in the tree because she

certainly didn't eat anything that night at dinner.

She didn't see Alex the next morning, either. Henry had an important meeting with his solicitor that afternoon which he declared he could not miss, and so the entire family left fairly early in the morning. Alex, tired from his treks the previous day and

unaware of the Blydons' plans for such an early departure, slept quite late and missed Emma altogether.

Emma only sighed at his absence and helped herself to a hearty breakfast.

Eugenia and Sophie had already made plans to remain at Westonbirt until midweek, and Alex had decided that he couldn't very well leave with all of the storm damage to attend to, so Emma and her family had a carriage to themselves for the return trip.

The moment they were on their way, Belle opened her Shakespeare, Henry pulled out some business papers, and Caroline

went to sleep. Emma stared out the window, resigning herself to a ride devoid of intelligent conversation.

She wasn't disappointed.

* * *

When they arrived back at the townhouse in London, Emma breathed a sigh of relief, swore she'd bring a book on the next long trip, and dashed up the stairs to her room. The entire weekend had been emotionally draining, between her intimate encounter

with Alex, her great realization that she loved him, and her inability to see him after that.

The bumpy ride back to London hadn't helped. It hadn't occurred to her how tired she really was until she fell onto her bed and realized that she wasn't going to get up for at least another week.

Or until someone knocked on her door ten seconds later.

"Hello, Emma." Ned opened the door and poked his head into the room before she had a chance to answer. "Did you have a

good weekend?" At her weary nod he continued. "Excellent. You look quite refreshed."

Emma, who was lying on her stomach with her right cheek pressed into the bed and her arm twisted over her head at a

somewhat unnatural angle, raised her eyes skeptically and realized that he wasn't being the least bit sarcastic; he appeared

quite distracted, and she doubted he'd actually taken a good look at her.

"Did you have a good weekend?" she inquired. "I imagine you enjoyed your brief period of freedom."

Ned shuffled into the room, shut the door, and leaned against Emma's desk. "Let's just say I had an interesting weekend."

"Oh dear."

"Why don't you tell me about your weekend first?"

Emma shrugged, pushing herself up into a sitting position, her back supported by the mountain of pillows that leaned against the headboard of her bed. "It was exactly what you would imagine."

"A bunch of people trying to get you married?"

Including me. "Exactly. But I still managed to have a good time. It's nice to get out of the city. It's so congested here."

"Good, good." Ned started rocking back and forth on his heels, and Emma got the impression that he

wasn't paying any attention to what she was saying.

"Is something wrong, Ned?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, you could say that." He walked over to the window and looked out, turned around and faced

her, crossed his arms, uncrossed them, and started pacing.

"You should get more exercise," Emma quipped.

Ned might have heard her, but he certainly wasn't listening. "Nothing is seriously wrong. I mean, it's nothing that can't be

fixed if I put my mind to it. Of course my mind isn't worth a lot of money, you know."

Emma raised her eyebrows. "Not in the physical sense, no."

"It isn't as if anyone died or anything like that." Ned shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, "At least not yet."

Emma hoped she'd heard him wrong.

"The thing is, Emma, I need your advice. And maybe your help. You're one of the smartest people I know. Belle, now, she's smart, too. Can't beat her when it comes to literature and how many languages does she speak? Three? I think she can read

a few others, too. Not much of a head for math, but she's sharp, my sister is. But she's too damned practical. Just last month she—" Ned stopped, drew back his shoulders sharply and looked at Emma with a stricken expression. "Oh God, Emma.

I can't even remember my original sentence. I know I didn't come in here to discuss my sister. What was I saying?" He

collapsed into a chair.

Emma bit her lip. Ned's head was hanging over the back of her chair. The situation looked grim, indeed. "Um, I believe it

was something about wanting my advice."

"Oh, right." Ned grimaced. "I've gotten myself into a bit of a mess."

"Really?"

"I was playing cards."

Emma groaned and closed her eyes.

"Now, hold on a second, Emma," Ned protested. "I don't need a lecture on the vices of cards."

"I wasn't going to give you one. It's just when the statement 'I was playing cards' is prefaced by 'I've gotten myself into a

bit of a mess/ it usually means that someone owes someone else a great deal of money."

Ned didn't say anything; he just sat there looking pained.

"How much?" Emma thought quickly, mentally adding up her savings. She hadn't spent very much of her allowance recently.

She might be able to bail out her cousin.

"Er—a certain sum." Ned got up and looked out the window again.

"Just how certain is this sum?"

"Extremely certain," he replied cryptically.

"Just how much are we talking about?!" Emma exploded.

"Ten thousand pounds."

"What?" she shrieked, leaping off her bed. "Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind?" She began to pace, waving her

arms wildly in the air. "What were you thinking?"

"I don't know," Ned moaned.

"Oh, I forgot, you're out of your mind. How can I expect you to think?"

"You're not exactly being supportive in my time of crisis."

"Supportive? Supportive!" Emma shot him a withering glare. "Support is not what you need right now. At least not the emotional kind. I don't believe this." She sank back down on the bed. "I just don't believe this. What on earth are we going to do?"

Ned breathed a sigh of relief at her use of the word "we."

"What happened?"

"I was playing with a group of friends at White's. Anthony Woodside joined us."

Emma shivered with distaste.- She hadn't seen Viscount Benton since their strange encounter at the Lindworthy's ball, but she certainly had no desire to do so. Their strained conversation had left her extremely uneasy and slightly insulted. She hadn't told Alex about the incident; there hadn't seemed to be any need to upset him over it. But still, Emma could not shake the feeling

that Woodside had evil plans—plans that involved her family.-Now it seemed that her premonitions had come true.

"It seemed impolite not to ask him to join us," Ned went on. "It was supposed to be a friendly game. Very casual. We'd all

had a few drinks."

"All except Woodside, I imagine."

Ned groaned, slapping his hand at the wall in a nervous gesture. "You're probably right. The next thing I knew, the stakes

were spiraling out of control, and I couldn't back down."

"And you were suddenly ten thousand pounds poorer."

"Oh God, Emma, what am I going to do?"

"I don't know," she said frankly.

"The thing is, Emma, he was cheating. I saw him cheating." Ned raked his hand through his hair, and it almost killed her to

see his tortured expression.

"Why didn't you say something? How could you just sit there and let him fleece you out of all your money?"

"Oh, Emma," Ned sighed, sinking into a chair and letting his head fall into his hands. "I may be a gentleman of honor, but I'm

not stupid. Woodside is one of the best shots in England. I'd have been insane to say something that would provoke him into

calling me out."

"Are you certain he'd call you out?"

Ned gave her a look that told her he was more than certain.

"And you'd have to accept? You couldn't just turn your back on him and walk away?"

"Emma, it's a matter of honor. I couldn't show my face anywhere if I were to accuse someone of cheating and then not

face the consequences."

"I find this gentlemen's honor business overrated, indeed. Call me practical, but I do think that one's life is preferable to one's honor. At least as pertains to card games."

"I agree, but there is nothing I can do about it. The fact is I owe Woodside ten thousand pounds."

"How long have you got to come up with the money?"

"Normally I'd have to get it to him right away, but because it's a large amount he told me I could have a fortnight."

"As long as that?" Emma said sarcastically.

"I think he gave me the extra time because he likes to feel he has power over me."

"You're probably right."

Ned swallowed convulsively, his hands clutching the arm of the chair. "He said he would forget about the entire matter if

I could arrange a tryst between him and Belle."

Emma felt a white-hot flame of rage consume her. "I'm going to kill him! Of all the sickening notions," she spat out, striding to

her desk and throwing open the drawers. "Do you have a gun?" she asked wildly, rummaging through her belongings and tossing papers onto the floor. "All I've got is this letter opener." Suddenly an awful thought entered her head and she turned to Ned, her face ashen. "You didn't—you didn't agree?"

"For God's sake, Emma," Ned blazed. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

"I'm sorry, Ned. I know you wouldn't—I'm just so upset."

"I'm not about to trade my sister's innocence for a gambling debt," he added defensively.

"I know." Emma sighed, tapping her finger against her pathetic little dagger. "It's sharp."

"You're not going anywhere with that letter opener. You wouldn't be able to do much damage with it, anyway."

She tossed the knife back onto her desk and sank down onto the edge of her bed. "I never told anyone about this, but I had

a run-in with Woodside last week."

"You did? What happened?"

"It was all very strange. He made all sorts of insults about my being American and lacking a title."

"Son of a bitch," Ned swore, clenching his fists.

"That wasn't it, though. He told me he was going to marry Belle."

"What?"

"I swear to God." Emma nodded for emphasis. "And I think he really believed it."

"What did you say?"

"I laughed at him. I probably shouldn't have done so, but the thought of Belle with that bastard was ludicrous beyond words."

"We're going to have to watch out for him, Emma. His obsession with Belle is bad enough, but now you've insulted him,

and he'll be out for revenge."

Emma shot him a disbelieving look. "What could he do? Besides collecting your ten thousand pounds, that is."

Ned groaned. "Where on earth am I going to come up with it, Emma?"

"If we can cancel this debt, Woodside won't have anything with which to pressure Belle. We're going to have to come up

with a plan."

"I know."

"What about your parents?"

Ned leaned his head against one of his hands, his expression anguished. "Oh, Emma. I don't want to ask them for the money.

I feel so ashamed of myself as it is—I don't want them ashamed of me, too. Besides, Father's funds are all tied up. He

recently made a big investment in a plantation in Ceylon. I don't think he could come up with that amount of cash so quickly."

Emma chewed on her lower lip, uncertain as to what to say.

"I got myself into this mess. I ought to get myself out."

"With a little help from your cousin."

Ned smiled at Emma wearily. "With a little help from my cousin," he repeated.

"It's probably for the best that Uncle Henry and Aunt Caroline can't help," Emma said. "They would be sick about it."

"I know, I know." Ned sighed and stood up decisively, walking over to the window and gazing out over the busy street.

'It's just too bad that this didn't happen six months from now," Emma said thoughtfully.

Ned turned around sharply, his eyes narrowing. "What happens six months from now?"

"My twenty-first birthday. My mother's family left me some money—I don't know if I ever mentioned it to you. It's been

earning interest for quite some time, and I imagine there is enough to cover your debt. But if s in a trust, and I can't touch it

until my twenty-first birthday. Or unless I—" Emma's voice caught in her throat.

"Unless you what?"

"Marry," she said softly.

"I don't suppose Ashbourne proposed this weekend," Ned said, only half joking.

"No," Emma said sadly.

"It's no matter, anyway. It'd take months to get the money over from America."

"Actually, it's here in London. My mother was born in America, but my grandparents emigrated from England. My grandfather never quite trusted Colonial banks and kept the bulk of his funds over here. I guess my mother and father never saw any

reason to move it over even though the States were independent."

"Well, it's useless even to think about it. No banker would release the money to you early."

"Unless I married," Emma said softly, her heart beginning to beat a little more rapidly.

Ned looked at her quizzically. "What are you saying, Emma?"

"How difficult is it to get a special license?"

"Not very difficult, I imagine, if one knows the right people."

"I would guess that Alex knows all the right people," Emma commented, wetting her lips. "Wouldn't you?"

"You just told me that Ashbourne didn't propose to you this weekend."

"That's true," Emma agreed, clasping her hands together. "But that doesn't mean I can't propose to him."

Ned's eyes registered disbelief. "I, er, suppose you could," he said slowly. "I've never heard of that actually happening,

but I don't suppose that means it cannot be done."

"You think I'm a fool?" Emma said flatly.

"No, no, no, of course I don't," he replied quickly. "Ashbourne is a fool if he refuses. Which he won't. I'm sure of it.

It's just that he might be a little surprised."

"A lot surprised."

"A hell of a lot surprised," Ned said, nodding his head.

Emma groaned. "Oh, God. I'm blushing just thinking about it."

Ned drummed his fingers against the wall as he considered the scheme. "But are you sure this would work, Emma? How

on earth could you propose to him, have him accept, get married, and get your money-—all in a fortnight?"

Her face fell. "I couldn't, I suppose. But I should think the bank would release my money once they knew I was engaged

to the duke of Ashbourne. Alex is a powerful man, you know."

"I know."

"I'm sure an announcement- in the Times would do the trick. It's almost as good as being married. A gentleman would never

throw over a lady once their engagement was in the paper. And the bankers would never dream that anyone would jilt a duke."

"But what if they refuse to release the money early? Bankers can be quite rigid about rules and all that."

"Then I'll have to have a hasty wedding. I don't think Alex would mind." She bunched up bits of her quilt in her hand, her eyes focused on her fingers as she spoke to her cousin. "I hope I have the courage," she said softly.

Ned immediately moved to her side and put his arm around her shoulder. "Emma," he said quietly, giving her a slight squeeze. "You don't have to do

this for me. I can solve this problem somehow. I'll go to a moneylender if I have to. I'll be miserable for a few months, a year maybe. But marriage lasts a lifetime. I can't ask you to sacrifice your happiness like that."

"But maybe," Emma whispered, "just maybe I wouldn't be sacrificing my happiness." She looked intently up at her cousin, her violet eyes bright with emotion. "Do you understand? Maybe it's the only chance I've got for happiness."

"But Emma, are you sure you can do it? If Alex hasn't asked you to marry him, what makes you think he's going to accept your offer?"

"I don't know," Emma sighed. "I guess I'll just have to make him accept me, won't I?

* * *

Meanwhile back at Westonbirt, Alex lay soaking in a hot, steaming bath. He felt as if he'd ridden to hell and back during the

past few days, and every muscle ached from overuse. He was thoroughly irritated with the godforsaken storm that had flooded half his estate, knocked down six trees, and monopolized his attention all day Saturday. Regretfully, the only time he'd been able to see Emma was at breakfast and dinner, and she had spent most of that time picking at her food and avoiding making eye contact.

She was nervous, that was all. He could understand that.

But what he couldn't understand was why he was nervous, too. Oh, he supposed he did a better job at covering it up than Emma did, but he was nearly ten years older than she was and had certainly had far more experience with the opposite sex. It stood to reason that he would be a little bit more self-contained. But even though he managed to act fairly normally, he couldn't deny the heady sense of anticipation he felt whenever she entered the room. Nor could he ignore how utterly disappointed he felt when

he got up that morning and discovered that she had already left.

Alex groaned and sank back a littie deeper into the tub. He was going to have to figure out exactly what it was he felt for

Emma. And then once he did that, he was going to have to figure out what he wanted to do about it.

Marriage?

The notion was beginning to seem more and more appealing. He'd always planned to put off marriage until his late thirties. Then he could do what everyone expected him to do and marry some girl without a personality and promptly ignore her. Well, not so promptly. There was that matter of getting an heir. But once he got that taken care of, he could forget about her existence. He didn't need a wife getting in his way.

But the fact of the matter was—he wanted Emma in his way. He went out of his way to get her in his way. The idea of Emma

as his wife dispelled all of his earlier notions of marriage. He felt warm inside at the thought of waking up next to her in the morning, of not having to sneak around just to get a moment alone with her. It didn't seem to make very much sense to wait around for a wife he could successfully ignore when he could have one he didn't want to ignore.

And, of course, there was that matter of getting an heir. The process didn't seem tedious anymore if it involved Emma. And for the first time, he found himself looking into the future and trying to picture those heirs his mother kept reminding him about. A

little boy with carroty hair. No, a little girl with carroty hair—that was what he wanted. A tiny little girl with carroty hair and big violet eyes who would hurl herself into his arms and scream, "Papa!" when he walked into the room.

And after that, he'd tuck her into bed, grab her mother, tuck her into bed, and get down to the business of creating a little

boy with carroty hair and big violet eyes.

Christ, it sounded like he'd already made his decision.

Was he crazy? Was he ready to throw over nearly a decade of plans for a tiny red-haired American chit?

Alex groaned again and hauled himself out of the tub, water running down his lean body in thin rivulets. He grabbed the towel

that his valet had left neatly folded on a chair near the bathtub, quickly dried himself off, and padded over to his closet and took

out a robe. Wrapping it around him, he flopped down on his bed.

He was fairly certain that Emma would accept him if he asked her to marry him. He knew she missed her father and had

always intended to go back to America, but he could be flexible. There was no reason they couldn't go visit Boston every other year or so. In fact, the rest of her family was here in London, and he knew they wanted her to stay. He didn't really want a wife who married him because of familial pressure, but he figured he shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. There would be plenty

of time to convince Emma that she loved him.

Alex sat up like a bolt. Did he want Emma to love him? That might be a little bit more than he could take. If someone loved you—someone decent and kind, that is—you had a responsibility not to trample all over her heart. And while he had no intention

of hurting Emma, he knew that he could injure her just by not loving her back.

Of course, maybe he did love her back.

But then again, maybe she didn't love him in the first place. She hadn't actually said as much. He couldn't very well love

someone back if she didn't love him first.

He could, however, love her first.

And that meant that he was going to have to convince her to love him back.

But the question was moot anyway because he hadn't yet decided to love her.

Or had he?

Alex bounded off the bed and began pacing to and fro across his room. Had he decided to love her? He didn't know. And furthermore, did a man actually decide to love a woman, or did it just sort of grow on you until one day you hop out of a

bathtub and realize that you've loved her for ages, for so long that you're not even sure when it all started and that you're

really just fighting the inevitable because it's become a habit to thwart your mother and your sister.

Oh God, he loved Emma. Now what was he going to do? Oh, fine, he could ask her to marry him, and she'd probably say yes,

but he didn't think that was going to be good enough. He didn't want her to many him just because she liked him; he wanted

her to many him because she loved him, loved him so much that she couldn't bear the thought of life without him because he

was slowly beginning to realize that that was how he felt about her.

Maybe he should test the waters a little before he actually proposed—try to get an idea of what she really felt for him. There

was no huge rush to ask her. Now that he had committed himself to this marriage idea, he was eager to get her legally bound

to him for life, but he supposed a few days wouldn't make much of a difference. After all, if it became apparent that she wasn't going to return his feelings, he might not want to propose.

Who was he kidding? Of course he'd propose. Napoleon himself couldn't stop him.

But there really wasn't much harm in waiting just a little while—if only for his peace of mind. After all, it wasn't as if she was going away anytime soon. And no one else was going to ask in the meantime. Alex was fairly certain he'd made sure of that.

Few men were brave enough to ask her to dance twice in one evening, much less to ask her to marry them. Alex had staked

a claim. And it was getting time to claim that claim.

Friday would do nicely. There was some function he was supposed to attend on Wednesday. He couldn't remember where,

but his secretary would have it written down back in London, and Emma would certainly be present. He could talk to her then, probe a little and try to guess her feelings. On Thursday his mother was having a small dinner party. He'd have a good chance

of getting her alone then. His mother certainly did her best to give him every opportunity of doing so. On Friday morning he'd

pick out an engagement ring from the family jewels and then head over to the Blydon mansion, propose, and be done with it.

Except that he really wouldn't be done with anything. Alex smiled peacefully. He would be beginning everything.